


You'd Know

by murderofonerose (atmilliways)



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dom/sub Undertones, Episode: s01e18 Girlfriendklok, Light Dom/sub, Pickles is a brat, Referenced Nathan Explosion/Rebecca Nightrod, Sub Pickles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 22:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29497218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atmilliways/pseuds/murderofonerose
Summary: The sting of Pickles’ slap heated his cheek. "Funny thing about being tied down," Pickles muttered darkly, and Nathan immediately had him pegged as the instigator. Those words and the way that slap was perfectly calculated to sting but not give him fucking whiplash, told him everything he needed to know. That, and something else that he’d caught sight of in the instant before impact.
Relationships: Nathan Explosion/Pickles the Drummer
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	You'd Know

**Author's Note:**

> **Nickles Week Day 3 - AU or Canonverse!**
> 
> The only AU-ish tweak to cannon I’ve made is adding a “cut moment” so there’s a slightly longer pause between Pickles flicking the cigarette and Toki socking Nathan in the stomach.

As the ice water dripped from his hair and soaking into his shirt and jeans, the first thing Nathan really managed to focus on was the throb of the black eye and radiating through his skull from when his bandmates had knocked him out. And . . . fuck. He’d known they were pissed about the Pornography Awards thing, but he hadn’t thought they’d go _this_ far. 

Now he had the scrapes and bruises to prove that yes, in fact, they would. Good to know. Next, he wanted to know who the _fuck_ had come up with the idea of tying him to a chair. 

“What the hell are you guys doing?” he growled. “I can’t move!”

The sting of Pickles’ slap heated his cheek. "Funny thing about being tied down," Pickles muttered darkly, and Nathan immediately had him pegged as the instigator. Those words and the way that slap was perfectly calculated to sting but not give him fucking whiplash, told him everything he needed to know. That, and something else that he’d caught sight of in the instant before impact. 

No one walked into a scene like this sporting a boner if they weren’t _into_ it, some way or another. 

Pickles exhaled a mouthful of smoke. “Yeah,” he said with an air of private (ish) satisfaction, then flicked his cigarette towards Nathan's face. "It's hard to keep your defenses up."

“Arrrrhh!” Nathan shook off the smouldering impact and glared up at the drummer, startled in spite of himself. It had been the obvious next move. “ _You’d know_ ,” he hissed, taking a wild shot. 

He’d said it so quiet that the rest of the guys, still hanging back even more out of the spotlight, probably didn’t hear. But Pickles did. Nathan could tell from the sudden look of cornered uncertainty in his eyes, which he only recognized from . . . kinda similar personal experience. It had been good shooting. 

Then Toki swooped in from out of the surrounding darkness and socked him in the stomach. Nathan promptly forgot all about Pickles and his boner, groaning like a bellows as all the air left his lungs. 

“Why are you doing this?” he moaned. 

Later, he would look back on that and think, _Oh. Duh. This is all Rebecca’s fault_. But they’d hauled him out of bed in the middle of the night and already roughed him up a bit, so whatever. 

It wasn’t until they finally untied him and Nathan stepped into a hug with Pickles that he remembered what he’d seen earlier. Shit—now he knew (or at least strongly suspected, but he was pretty sure) something about his bandmate that, by band agreement, was none of his fucking business. But he couldn’t just un-know it, and Pickles felt . . . weirdly pliant in his arms as he returned the embrace. 

That was a problem for another time. All Nathan wanted right now was to limp back to his room, change, maybe take a quick shower, and sleep off the abuse his dumbass friends had just inflicted upon him before. . . . God, he didn’t even want to _think_ about how to break up with Rebecca right now. That fucking taser blast had made him piss his pants and the wet denim was really chafing. 

“Let’sch get you back to your room, pal,” Murderface said with a clap against his sore back, all smiles and solicitousness now that their Nightrod Nightmare was almost over and the night at the United States Pornography Awards back on. 

“Yeah,” Pickles agreed quickly, before anyone else could volunteer to pitch in, and positioned himself under Nathan’s arm. 

“Fuck you two assholes,” Nathan grumbled. But he accepted the help because it was the least they could do, really, and it beat limping back to bed on just his own power.

Murderface left outside Nathan’s bedroom but Pickles stuck around, supporting him all the way in and to the bathroom. 

Nathan disengaged to limp over to the sink and splash warm water on his face. When he grabbed a hand-towel and looked up through the scraggly clumps of wet hair hanging in front of his eyes, he saw in the mirror that the drummer was still there, hanging back awkwardly by the door. “. . . You can, uh, go now.”

Pickles shrugged. “Okie, sure.”

But he didn’t go, just kept dicking around kicking his sneaker against the door jamb. 

“Hey, Pickles,” Nathan said sharply, and watched the reflection of Pickle’s head snapping up to eye him attentively. Well shit. He dropped his face back into his towel and sighed into it, then turned to glare at him directly. And to. . . . 

Wait, what was his plan here? Did he even _have_ a plan? No, because who the fuck planned for accidentally discovering that a bandmate is totally into shit like this and was now hovering in hopes of some sort of good time. 

They stared at each other for a while while the gears in Nathan’s tired brain started grinding and creaking laboriously into motion, until Pickles scowled and crossed his arms. "Fuck," he spat, "If you don't gaht anything to say then I'm gettin' the fuck outta here—"

"Shut up," Nathan growled, and Pickles' mouth snapped closed immediately. "Come over here."

Pickles drifted over, still eyeing him like he wasn’t sure whether to go along with this or be a fucking brat. When Nathan grabbed him, though—half by his dreads, half by the scruff of his neck—he went fucking boneless practically immediately. 

After another moment of thought, Nathan rumbled, “Fuck, I’ve gotta shower. Go . . . sit on the bed or whatever until I’m done.” He paused, then added, “And don’t fucking smoke in my room. I’m still pissed at you for that cigarette thing, that was a dick move.”

“Sahrry,” Pickles mumbled, not sounding particularly repentant. “It was spur’a the moment. I’m naht usually on that end of a scene.”

“Yeah, well. . . . Go do what I said.” Nathan released him with a little shove towards the door. This time he went, and Nathan peeled out of his clothes and stepped into the shower for a quick rinse—wam for comfort, then a quick blast of cold to help calm down any swelling. By the time he was out and toweled off, all he wanted was to fall face-first into bed and sleep for the next twelve hours. 

Except he couldn’t, because he still had fucking company. Not the worst company ever, and any other night he would definitely be taking advantage of that, but ugh. 

"So . . . how'd you know?" Pickles asked as soon as Nathan shambled out of the bathroom, towels still wrapped around his hips and his hair. The drummer had thoughtfully kicked off both his shoes and his jeans while waiting, and was sitting cross legged in his tighty whities and sleeveless shirt. "What gave me away?"

"You almost busted your zipper when you said that thing about being tied down, you dumbass," Nathan told him bluntly, and sat down heavily on the bed. “Look, I’m not in the mood after what you douchebags pulled tonight. If I’m going to deal with Rebecca tomorrow I need my fucking sleep, alright?”

Pickles pouted. “Dood, you’re gonna leave me high and dry after I almost busted my zipper?”

“Yeah. I fucking am.” Squeezing the towel on his head experimentally, Nathan decided his hair was as dry as his exhaustion would allow it to get and tossed that aside. He was less sure of what to do about his other towel, with Pickles sounding as awake as he did. 

“Well—Fuck, man, why’d you tell me to stay, then?”

Why indeed. Nathan had been asking himself that too. . . . Mostly, he’d just reacted on instinct. 

“And how come you let that bitch boss you around all the time?” Pickles continued irritably. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a switch, but I guess _she_ does.”

 _Maybe I look for different things in chicks than I do in guys, asshole,_ Nathan thought, but didn’t say. He was too fucking tired to talk about shit like this right now. 

“Shut up and just rub my back until I fall asleep, because I fucking hurt all over and it’s partly your fault,” he growled, and felt a brief warmth of satisfaction at how quickly Pickles subsided. “You can stay if you want after, I don’t care.”

“. . . Okie,” Pickles muttered, with a fleeting look in his eyes that Nathan couldn’t read at all. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles, moving to his knees while he warmed up for a massage. “Where’s yer lotion?”

Nathan told him, and while Pickles grabbed for it he laid flat on his stomach on the bed. Or tried to—the towel at his waist had a weird crease in an inopportune place that made it uncomfortable to lay on, so he huffed and unwrapped. He had to clear his throat warningly when Pickles reached to tug it off and expose his bare ass, but it was worth the freedom of sinking comfortably onto the mattress. 

It was a good massage. Pickles started with Nathan’s upper back, loosening muscles that had been taut and jumping ever since the taser blast and the quick shower hadn’t been enough to soothe away, bending over the frontman with knees to either side of him, gradually working his way further down. 

At another throat clearing, he skipped the towel covered portion and obediently went down Nathan’s legs one at a time. Drowsily, Nathan wondered if he’d been wrong about the brat thing, since Pickles had barely acted out at all. 

Putting the last leg down slowly, Pickles patted the back of Nathan’s calf. “Wanna roll over so I can do the front, dood?”

Nope, there it was, he could hear the lopsided smirk without having to look. Very sneaky, playing by the rules until Nathan was more pliant, relaxed, and possibly willing to get up to more before falling asleep—and it wasn’t as though he didn’t consider it, for a second, but he really was bone fucking tired. 

“Nice try,” Nathan yawned. He did roll over, but just enough to topple the smaller man off him onto the expansive mattress before crawling under the covers. Yawning again, eyes already half closed, he asked, “Well? Are you staying or not?”

In response, Pickles crawled over. Nathan held up the blankets for him to scoot under, manhandling the drummer to lay with his back to Nathan’s chest and one heavy arm all but pinning him in place. 

“So . . . now what?” Pickles asked. 

“Sleep,” Nathan replied shortly. He was already somewhat unsure if this was real or a dream. Well, he’d figure it out tomorrow. “I might give you a pounding in the morning, if you’re still here when I wake up.”

Pickles shivered pleasantly against him. “What kind?

“I’ll decide in the morning.” This last was sighed against the smaller man’s neck, where Nathan had burrowed through his dreads like an oversized child cuddling a teddy bear. It really had been a long fucking day, and he liked the smell of whatever shampoo Pickles used. 

He was already out like a light.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes I did have Pickles imply that Rebecca pegs Nathan. No I did not have Nathan confirm nor deny the suggestion. ~~Yes I think she would have, though, and that he'd be into it.~~


End file.
